


the voyeur

by olavidalo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Infidelity, M/M, Other, drug usage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:07:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olavidalo/pseuds/olavidalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry avoids mirrors. zayn spends all his time in front of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the voyeur

**Author's Note:**

> Eh. All lies. Hastily written, unbeta'ed, unbritpicked lies. Also uncapitalized again, sorry.

face masks, cling film, old gloves, old glue: the high is peeling off.  
  
look at me, harry says wordlessly, crowding behind him in the bathroom. slouching, hiding his face in his neck - naked, or nearly so. it’s exhausting, being away, being awake. zayn wants to sleep; wants to call those girls back, wants to hit the undo button. fast-forward, rewind, delete. he wants to go home.  
  
harry’s mumbling something somewhere north of his collarbone — (ooh-ca-me, lou-keh-mi) — unformed words zayn can feel in his chest. deep in, too, like the build-up before a cuh. _cuh_ —  
  
he sneezes  
  
—cough. maybe he’s coming down with something. maybe that’s why he’s no fun. probably harry would’ve had a better time without him. harry always has a better time than him. not that that means much, these days.  
  
he shifts his gaze from the top of harry’s head to his own face; looks himself in the eye and feels nothing. smiles and feels nothing, frowns and feels nothing, yawns and feels tired, okay, so maybe he is nothing. probably if he reached his hand through the glass, it’d just be air. right? or, like. shaving cream. perrie wants him to shave. says his beard scares prada.

he starts to laugh and can’t stop. harry keeps muttering to himself, (u-kah-may, khe-at-meh), he doesn’t get it. _louis_ would get it, lou would laugh.

well, not, like, now _._ not after el and the rest of it. but a few months back, he would’ve.  
  
the glass is cool and solid and real beneath his fingertips. his hand is still rank and driedstick because he hasn’t washed up yet.

he feels weird, looking at himself - why is he still laughing? - kind of doubled out, halfway there. he watches his reflection pull back and tilt his head to the side, watches the harry in the mirror follow the movement, kiss him further up. he taps the glass - _ckh_ \- and it’s real, it’s happening to him, too.

his eyes close. it won’t change a fucking thing. so why not? why the fuck not.

the mirror’s here and lou’s not and there’s no getting through to either of them. there’s no way out. all there is is the fog of distance and harry coming in clearer and clearer through his kisses: ku-te-ry, ulk-ta-mi, _look_ , zayn. look at me.

 


End file.
